The Spanish Mozart

They called him 'the Spanish Mozart'. Juan Crisóstomo Arriaga (1806-1826) was a composer-prodigy, writing an octet at the age of 11, having an opera performed at the age of 13 and dying young - very young - at the age of 19. He was maturing quickly before what seems to have been tuberculosis struck him down. Schubert died at 31, Mozart at 35. It's hard not to wonder what even an extra twelve years of life would have meant for the name of Arriaga. 

So what have we got? Alas, little more than the overture from that opera, Los esclavos felices ('The Happy Slaves') survives; however, this overture is one of the works which proves young Arriaga to be at least as precocious as Mendelssohn, Mozart and, maybe, even Korngold. I hope you'll agree that it's a beautifully-proportioned, delightful piece. The style is essentially Classical with an added dash of Rossini (especially in the woodwind writing). The slowish introduction has a bucolic air and a charming tune. The main allegro is full of good things, including memorable themes, an imaginative development section, a rousing Rossinian crescendo leading into the coda and a surprise ending. The scoring throughout is felicitous. 

Now, if you enjoyed that happy creation then you are also bound to like the Symphony in D, completed at the age of 18. It is, however, a piece in a different temper and an even more impressive creation. It starts with a stormy early-Beethoven-like first movement prefaced by a solemn slow introduction, then a beautiful,  pathos-laden Andante followed by a syncopated Minuet with a delectable pastoral trio section and, to end, an agitated Finale that anticipates the coming of Mendelssohn. A noteworthy feature of the symphony is that it is indeed "in D", spending as much of its time in D minor as it does in D major and passing through many a surprising modulation along the way. Many hear a budding Romantic beginning to burst into flower here.

The other main legacy left to us by the young composer are his three string quartets, composed as a group when the composer was 17. In these pieces you also hear Arriaga, like Schubert before him, displaying love and understanding for the quartets of Haydn and Mozart, alighting occasionally on Beethoven but building his own proto-Romantic style. You may also hear little touches of Spanishness from time to time (something absent from the orchestral works). I can bring you only two of them unfortunately. 

The dramatic opening Allegro of the String Quartet No. 1 in D minor has a melancholy air to it and begins with a theme which is quickly developed before yielding to a folk-inspired second subject. Listen out for more of those subtle major/minor shifts in this movement. The tender Adagio unwinds a long cantilena from the first violin, while the Minuet has a trio section that uses pizzicato chords to suggest the accompaniment of a guitar. There's a slow, grave introduction to Mozartian finale, which turns out to be a somewhat brighter movement whose main theme seems to have something of the jota rhythm about it.

The first movement of the String Quartet No. 3 in E flat major shows Arriaga pursuing the Hadyn/Beethoven path of playing with short thematic ideas. It also contains another of the composer's characterful development sections, plus more of his enticing modulations. The delightful second movement takes us into the countryside for a pastorale. As in Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony, there's a brief storm - evoked using tremolo writing - to disturb the peaceful scene. The cloud-covered C minor Minuet is even closer to the spirit of Beethoven, though its trio section is a far more genial affair. Then comes the closing presto agitato where the Haydnesque impulse to mine themes is further pursued and done so admirably.

You may already know some of these pieces but I suspect you may (like me) be unfamiliar with his vocal music. There's a pleasing if not especially dramatic Stabat Mater for three male voices and orchestra, plus several cantatas. These include the strongly dramatic Agar dans le désert, for soprano, treble and orchestra, which tells the story of Hagar's flight into the desert with her son Ishmael as told in Genesis. The cantata has more than a flavour of tragic opera about it, especially in the striking scene between mother and child and the fierce and fabulous final aria, and is a remarkable piece of writing for a teenager. In a lighter but no less impressive vein, please also try the Dúo from Ma tante Aurore, a lyrical buffo number that lovers of Mozart and Rossini will surely appreciate. 

It's always a bit melancholy, even nearly two hundred years later, to get to know and appreciate someone's work whilst being aware that they had hardly even begun their journey as a composer (and human being) before their death and could have gone on to become one of the greatest names of music, as Arriaga certainly had the makings to be. Still, we have what we have to console us I suppose.

Further listening

Erminia, scène lyrique-dramatique

Médée, air

La Hungara, for violin and piano

In other words...

'Paraphrase' in musical terms is analogous to the usual definition of the word as it relates to language, where it means "a restatement of a text or passage giving the meaning in another form; rewording". In music, an original melody (or part of that melody) is used in a new piece and while the essence ('the meaning') of the melody remains its actual notes are changed, whether by the addition of new notes or the subtraction of some of the old notes or just by altering certain of the notes or the melody's rhythm or shape.

Tomás Luis de Victoria's lovely setting of the Ave Maria for four voices paraphrases an old Gregorian plainchant melody. The cantus (soprano) line of Victoria's piece begins with the 'Ave Maria' phrase from from the old chant, unadorned and unaccompanied and continues 'verbatim' with the phrase 'Gratia plena'. Victoria then adds a repeat of that phrase, albeit lowering both of the final two notes by a third. He alters one note of 'Dominus tecum', which he then transposes down a third and repeats. Gradually, the variation of the melody in the soprano line grows freer with an increasing number of changes to the shape of the original plainchant melody as the setting of 'Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui Jesus Christ' proceeds, culminating in a remarkable expansion of the very short original setting of 'Jesus Christ'. The phrases begin at 'Sancta Maria' have only the general arcs of the original. 

What are the other three voices doing? Well, supplying counterpoint for starters, this being Renaissance polyphony. The first 'Gratia pleni' phrase is echoed in turn by the tenor and bass while the alto repeats it but changes the final note. This imitative writing is not usual for the period but, as it isn't a Baroque fugue, the imitation is not particularly strict, nor is it pervasive. The section beginning at 'Sancta Maria', however, switches to homophony and a simple, triple-time rhythm before the metre changes back to duple time at 'peccatoribus' for a final polyphonic flourish. 

There is a second setting of the Ave Maria by Victoria, this time for eight voices - here a double choir. It is even more beautiful. Where the piece we've already met is quite simple and intimate, this setting is public music meant for grand occasions. The upper voice of the first chorus sings the memorable opening phrase, whose opening notes are those of the old Gregorian chant but which then continues along its own path. The upper voice of the second chorus echoes it. The chant is again paraphrased in this piece, though far more elusively. It does becomes very close to the original at 'Benedicta tu in mulieribus'. As often in works for double choir, the choirs sometimes sing separately, sometimes together. The 'Sancta Maria' is again a point of simplification, but the sharpest contrast comes with the strongly rhythmical section beginning at "Ora pro nobis". 

Both settings are masterpieces. Ave Victoria!

More than just fingers

Enrique Granados's Allegro de concierto, Op.46 is one of those works where the virtuosity of the pianist is placed front-stage. It's known to be one of the most fiendishly difficult examples of its kind. Thankfully it's a good deal more than merely a dazzling display piece for a performer's fingers and alongside the sort of sparkling bravura we find in Liszt we also get to hear that side of Granados's deeply romantic make-up which draws deeply on the poetic example of Chopin and Schumann.

From such name-checks you might well gather that the work doesn't sound very Spanish. Unlike his other famous works - the gorgeous Goyescas and the Spanish Dances - their are few Latin rhythms and no guitar-like writing. The piece is much more in the spirit of a Chopin Ballade, with an heroic spirit that also embraces rich lyrical melody. There are some ravishing moments where that lyricism is allowed to sing on top of delicate accompaniments. The piece builds inexorably towards an exciting climax before recapitulating the main material in reverse order and then launching into a short but  impressive coda.

In the hands of the likes of the great Alicia de Larrocha this work is an obvious masterpiece.